Prompt:

[Verse 1] Below the burning kingdoms, where the red foundations groan, a colder crown was lifted from an altar carved in bone. The flames drew back in silence, the old infernos bowed, when frost as black as starless death fell soft upon the crowd. He took the throne of demons with no hunger in his face, no roaring oath of slaughter, no plea for holy grace. Only horns beneath the shadow, only eyes like winter’s law, and every fiend in Usher’s depths remembered how to awe. [Pre-Chorus] Do not mistake the quiet for a weakness in the chain. Some gates remain unopened because one soul contains the pain. [Chorus] Tchort, Black Frost Sovereign, ruler of the Nether’s breath. Gate of the Abyss below, warden of the second death. Tchort, crowned in frozen fire, lord where demon legions drown. When his shadow seals the doorway, all the depths kneel down. [Verse 2] His ice can still the furnace, make lava cease to crawl, hang Netherflame like glasswork on the pillars of the hall. His word can bind a nightmare, his hand can hush a war, and black snow climbs the iron gates where Demogorgon roars. Yet under all that splendor, under velvet, fang, and gold, there lives a wound kept breathing in a palace built of cold. He learned to feel too deeply, then learned what feeling costs; now every tender impulse stands behind a wall of frost. [Pre-Chorus] He is the lock and jailer, he is the sealed command. The abyss does not own him, but it listens to his hand. [Chorus] Tchort, Black Frost Sovereign, ruler of the Nether’s breath. Gate of the Abyss below, warden of the second death. Tchort, crowned in frozen fire, lord where demon legions drown. When his shadow seals the doorway, all the depths kneel down. [Bridge] Demogorgon dreams beneath him, old devourer, buried flame, clawing at the endless winter that has learned its keeper’s name. Not by mercy, not by hatred, not by fear of what may rise, but by will as cold as judgment does the gate deny the skies. Let the weak call darkness evil, let the proud call frost a chain; he has made himself the border between hunger and the slain. If the seal should ever splinter, if the last black hinges cry, Tchort will stand before the opening and teach the pit to die. [Fast Build] Raise the horns and wake the iron, strike the drums beneath the deep. All the fires of Usher Infernus burn below the frost he keeps. Chains of ice and Nether thunder, court of ash and shadowed spears, every demon speaks his title with obedience sharpened by fear. He is not the flame gone feral, he is not the beast uncrowned. He is winter over Hellfire, he is silence given sound. When the Abyss begins its breathing, when the buried horrors climb, he will freeze the mouth of ending at the lowest edge of time. [Final Chorus] Tchort, Black Frost Sovereign, ruler of the Nether’s breath. Gate of the Abyss below, warden of the second death. Tchort, crowned in frozen fire, lord where demon legions drown. When his shadow seals the doorway, all the depths kneel down. Tchort, keeper of the black gate, Nether’s crown and winter’s blade. Usher bends beneath his silence, ancient debts remain unpaid. Tchort, sovereign of the frostbound dark, hold the seal and wear the crown. While his frozen throne is standing, the Abyss stays down. [Outro] Where Hellfire meets the blackest snow, where devouring gods are chained below, one cold king guards the final scar: Tchort, the gate beneath the star.